Today has been one of those especially difficult pregnant days. For the most part I try to keep all my complaints about pregnancy at bay or at the very least light hearted and laughable. I know that I can’t quite imagine the pains of infertility as I’ve never actually experienced it myself but I have witnessed it first hand in my own family and from my own mom as she recounted her struggles to become pregnant with me. I try to air on the side of courteousness and empathy but today was hard so bare with me while I indulge a little in my own woes.
There are so many moms or mothers-to-be around me that seem to revel during this sacred time. They glow, they post weekly updates of their growing bumps, and seem to be over the moon tickled about being pregnant… and then there’s me.
Don’t get me wrong, the outcome of holding your sweet precious baby seems to melt all the burdens away and make every ounce of trouble worthwhile and there are also some pretty magical moments during pregnancy but to me, they are just that. Moments. Little blips in time when I can sit back and think, wow, there’s a life growing inside me. But then my thoughts settle right back into how bad my ankles are hurting or how much weight I’ve gained and how I just can’t wait to have this baby out of me so my body can start to feel normal again.
I love those videos of men trying to get a feel for pregnancy and labor. Trying on weighted bellies for a day or wearing a contraption that is supposed to mimic contractions. They are pretty hilarious as all the men can’t seem to endure it any of it. But there is a hollowness to it because it isn’t just a day that I carry this weight around. It isn’t a single day that I have a headache or a back ache or an all over ache. It is 280 days of not feeling normal. It is 280 days of not quite feeling right. For most we can shrug off a bad day and start the next day anew, but pregnant? Each passing day only gets worse. I will only get heavier and moving around will only become more difficult and strenuous. The 280 days really isn’t justice because of course there’s the labor and delivery and all that fun postpartum recovery jazz you have to somehow squeeze into your newborn’s sporadic sleep schedule.
As of yesterday I am six and half months pregnant, or 26 weeks for all you noobs. Between taking care of a rambunctious toddler and trying my best to maintain a household, I can’t help but cringe while passing by the full length mirror in the hall. My reflection has betrayed me as there standing before me is a frumpy and dumpy mess. I can’t help but feel as though I already look full term and here I have so many more weeks to go, more weeks of gaining weight, more weeks of struggling to get around and complete simple tasks. I feel so defeated.
Today I really missed the sting of a good workout. I miss lifting in a gym in a way I can’t describe. I still get to the gym fairly often but my current work outs are a far cry from the peak I was sitting at just a few short months ago. I miss being able to push my body and feel that deep soreness in my muscles. I’m sore every day now just for entirely different reasons. Housework makes me sore. Actually just being awake makes me sore.
It’s a different ball game this time around. The first time I was pregnant I didn’t really have anyone else to care for. I worked as much as I could so I could save up whatever nest egg I could before the baby came, but in between all the working? I was able to kick my feet up and relax. I treated myself to pedicures once a month and got my hair done whenever it needed it. I took baths nearly every night as the warm water soothed my aches and pains away. At night I nestled into my pregnancy pillow and slept for 10 hours at a time, only of course interrupted by bathroom breaks.
But this time it is just so so so much harder. The pedicures? Maybe once every three months if I’m lucky, same goes for my hair. I keep coasting on the mom bun and dry shampoo status and hope that when poor souls encounter me in public they lend a sympathetic smile at the mommy who’s at her wits end. Either that or I wear a hat so no one is the wiser to how much my hair has grown since I colored it last. All those luxuries take so much orchestrating, time, money and someone to watch Hayes that after household chores and working part time, I just don’t have the energy to deal with.
Then there is the ever elusive shower. I always think to myself, “man, I could really use a shower today.” But then I look around at my house. All the housework is going to make me messy and then I’ll be gross and need another shower, so it only makes sense to shower after the house work is completed. So I go about cleaning the house only to see that the day has slipped away and I am too tired to take a shower, so the shower will just have to wait for the next day. But then the next day comes, there are more messes ahead of me and who knows if and when I can get Hayes to take a nap so I can have an uninterrupted moment to wash my hair because let’s be honest, by this point my shower time is so limited that I have to narrow it down to what needs to happen most. Can my hair go another day without being washed? Or is it my leg hair that I cannot continue living with?
I was told once many years ago that I would have a hard time being pregnant. I think my active lifestyle and almost constant efforts in the gym were contributing factors to that assessment. I miss feeling fit and healthy, I miss feeling like my body was my own. I know that these feelings will subside and that in the grander scheme of life pregnancy is but a little blip on the radar. I know the longing for my old body will be subdued soon enough anyhow, October means Monopoly at McDonalds is back so I see a lot of McFlurry’s in my near future!
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